


Objective Reality

by heroictype (swanreaper)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bugs, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness Things, Post Episode 91, supportive boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 21:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7657588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanreaper/pseuds/heroictype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing to say it was anything more than a nightmare. There's nothing but Cecil's words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objective Reality

**Author's Note:**

> So. We don't have a conclusion to this yet. In fact, it's just getting started. If this appears to leave things hanging, that's why. 
> 
> But I'm nothing if not a sucker for cheesy hurt/comfort. And wow, that episode was really lovely, wasn't it? Expect more to come exploring these ideas. Also, I love our neurodivergent gay Jewish protagonist so much.
> 
> Warnings for bugs, dissociation, and anxiety, primarily.

Some nightmares were a community affair, but this one belonged to Cecil.

This one was:

_Skin swallowed, legs everywhere. Every movement is a pinprick of information; you are covered, you are coated, they are on you and_ they are here _._

_You know and you cannot escape, and it will not end._

It never ended, as such. That moment was infinite, in a place behind his consciousness. But he woke up.

The sensations didn't last, but the adrenaline did. His heart rate did. The sweat, cold on his skin, was slow to evaporate.

He took Carlos’ hand. He squeezed it, and willed his pulse to match his boyfriend’s, no doubt slow and easy. Cecil did not press himself close enough to check, because he thought that he would hold too tightly. He did not want to disturb Carlos. One of them should get some rest.

Throughout the night, Carlos shifted and rolled. His movements were heavy, slow, so far from conscious actions. Cecil wondered if Carlos was dreaming. Sometimes, Cecil could say for certain, one way or another, but not tonight.

He closed his eyes, and every time the weight behind them spread, his heart picked up again. The comforting fog receded. He didn’t realize it was morning until Carlos moved more deliberately, pushing up against him, wrapping his arms around the radio host’s body to maneuver him closer and humming. Cecil obliged with a slight smile, and kissed the scientist on the forehead.

Carlos opened his eyes immediately.

“You didn’t sleep again, did you?” He asked.

“Hm? What gives you that idea?” Cecil replied lightly. He frowned, just out of Carlos’ line of sight. He informed himself that this was only because of Carlos’ concern, not because there was anything about him that Carlos needed to be concerned about.

“Based on my observations, you’re never this alert this early unless you either haven’t slept for a while or you’ve had coffee. And there’s no evidence to suggest that you’ve moved recently, therefore you must have been awake for a while now.”

“Oh. So that’s what gives you that idea.”

“Yes.” Carlos nodded firmly. “This is based on a couple of years of data, so it should be pretty reliable.”

“Mmm. Well, we’re both awake now. Would you like breakfast, my darling Carlos? After a couple of years of being alive, minimum, I’ve learned that people are usually hungry after they wake up.”

Carlos nestled closer and kissed Cecil’s shoulder, just for a point of contact. He said, "I would like breakfast, but I would also like to talk to you. We can do this in whatever order you’d like, but I think they should both happen.”

Cecil sighed, and pecked Carlos on the forehead again. The scientist’s hair tickled his cheek, and for a moment - a moment when his heart skipped a beat and gravity lost its terrible, mysterious power over him - he was okay. But then his heart was beating again, and the respite only made it more plain that it was too fast.

Carlos was talking again, anyway. He really ought to listen.

“It doesn’t even have to be today,” Carlos offered. “I’m only saying that it should happen.”

“…It’s nothing.”

“It is very clearly not nothing, Ceec.” Carlos said, sounding faintly cross as he did when he felt that someone was disregarding science. “You are responding to something. So that thing can’t be nothing, scientifically speaking.”

“Oh, yes? Well,” Cecil began, more sharply than he intended.

But this didn't have to be so hard. He just needed to explain the situation; it was no different than what he always did, sorting the relevant information and presenting it, certain in the knowledge that his information could be relied upon. Never mind the paradox this became, unique to this context - his own uncertainty was at the root.

_Well. Exactly. Never mind._

“Where’s your... evidence? There’s nothing to say it ever happened. There’s nothing to say it was ever any more real than a nightmare, nothing but my own words, which, apparently, no one heard. Not even you. Anyway, maybe - maybe I don’t want it to be real. Have you considered that possibility? Maybe I only want to leave it as unreal, and it never needs to have happened.”

Carlos nodded, and threaded his fingers through Cecil’s hair, stroking down. Cecil shivered, and Carlos went still.

“That is a possibility, and I had not considered it, no. Now that I have, there _is_ one thing that stops me from accepting it. Cecil… You know I believe you. You know that, right?”

The radio host narrowed his eyes. “Did you… miss the part about the utter lack of evidence, or…?”

“Well... There is some data available. There’s you.”

Cecil laughed. The sound only last a breath, and it was one of the more humorless sounds Carlos could recall hearing in his lifetime. In Cecil's voice, short and sharp, something about it struck right in the center of his chest. It struck there, and stuck there, and echoed in his ribs. 

He did not want to hear a sound like that from his boyfriend ever again. Not if science could do anything about it. 

He continued firmly, “Allow me to explain. Your experience and recollections are counted as valid scientific evidence. Whatever that experience was, well, I can’t say. Where it might have taken place, I don’t know. But something definitely happened somewhere. The time - approximately during that prior broadcast? Although that, too, is difficult to pinpoint. I’ve been thinking about it, however. That’s what a scientist does.”

He cleared his throat here, and leaned over his boyfriend. He waited until they made eye contact, just for the extra weight it would give his point.

“And what I have decided, what I can conclude from the evidence available is this: something happened. Even if it was only something that occurred to you internally, that doesn’t change how the experience affected you and it doesn’t mean there isn’t a scientific reason behind it. I… want to find out what that is. If that’s alright. You can be as involved in that process as you want to be.”

“I just…” Cecil let that fade. He _just_ didn’t know; he _just_ didn’t have anything to say; he _just_ felt an especially nasty headache coming on. He twisted away, and tucked his head into his elbow. “I’m sorry, Carlos.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I… don’t know what else to be about this?”

“That’s fair. I promise, though, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I don’t know that!” In fact, he knew the opposite. He just didn’t know which of his many, many wrong actions might be relevant here. His breath came quickly now, too, but he managed to forge words anyhow. “Carlos, I don’t know what I did, or what I saw. I don’t know where I went, and so - how do I know that I came back?”

He rolled out of bed, and grabbed his microphone off the nightstand. Carlos sat up, watching him pace. Cecil gestured wildly with the hand that wasn’t holding the microphone to his lips, and broadcast to his singular audience.

“It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything, does it? I can only know what I see, what I hear, what I feel. This uncertainty, this absence of clarity, it is a constant! But... I want _this_ to be real. I want to be here with you, I want to know I’m here with you, and not-” 

Something tickled on his leg. A hair? Less than a hair? _Or -_ He sucked in a breath and kicked at the sensation with his other heel, but he felt nothing there. “…Not anywhere else.”

“Oh. Thank you for telling me.” Carlos pushed himself across the bed to slip out on Cecil’s side. “Come here for a minute?”

Cecil didn't move, but that was alright. Carlos came to him.

“It does matter. That concept to begin with - the whole idea of mattering - it's about what we attach importance to, scientifically speaking. So if it's bothering you, by definition, it matters." He angled Cecil's face toward him. "Listen to me? My one and only dear listener?”

Cecil lowered the microphone, but Carlos took hold of it and lifted it without removing it from Cecil’s grip. The radio host did not resist, and they held it together as Carlos spoke into it.

Carlos began, “Here is what I perceive. One: you’re standing in front of me. This means that I’m standing in front of you. Yes?”

Cecil squinted, and deliberately looked Carlos up and down before he agreed. “Yes.”

“Alright. Two. The lights are off right now, and I haven’t made the bed yet. Is this correct?”

“It is.”

“Okay, so. Three. I’m taking your hand-”

He wrapped his free hand around Cecil’s, brushing his thumb over his boyfriend’s knuckles.

“And I am kissing it.”

Carlos lowered the microphone between them just enough to do that. Then, he asked, “Is that, to you, a scientifically accurate depiction of what just occurred?”

“Yes… yes, it is.”

“Alright. Therefore, based on the evidence, I think it’s reasonable to conclude that we are currently sharing the same reality. We’re here, together.”

"I… understand."

"Cognitively. Does that make you feel better?"

"It helps. It helps… I…" He laughed again, and slipped an arm around Carlos' waist. The scientist took the single step closer that he could, and their foreheads touched. Cecil continued, "I don't know why it's so hard to say. But it does help."

"Good. Now. I do think getting something to eat would be a good idea. Scientifically speaking, breakfast is very important for proper nutrition. But let’s make it together, okay?”

"Okay."

The unease lingered, but not on its own. For every twitch of muscle, there was a gentle whispering that he could feel the breath of. For every phantom crawling, there was a solid, sure touch that he could confirm with his own hands.

This was a beginning, Cecil guessed. And his guesses were, after all, better than average. But whatever the end would be, he would not have to find it alone.


End file.
